


a step into space with unseeing eyes

by TechnicalTragedy



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angels, Bargaining, Demons, Gen, cleric percy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:30:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8638771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnicalTragedy/pseuds/TechnicalTragedy
Summary: Percy runs. He escapes the Briarwoods and, upon stopping to rest and tend to his wounds, meets an angel and a demon who come to be important figures as the years drag on. The most difficult part of having mysterious godly benefactors is learning to find balance.
[Written for the 2016 Critical Role Reverse Bang]





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i was very excited to do this piece, and i have the lovely [@polymachinafan](polymachinafan.tumblr.com) on tumblr to thank for the art! this piece was originally going to be longer, but i wanted to leave space for myself to possibly revisit the idea in the future.
> 
> thank you to all involved in the Bang this year!

 

Cassandra's hand is tight around Percy's as they run. Percy can't hear the screams anymore, hadn't been hearing them for a while before Cass came and rescued him. He can't be certain how long he was down there, but he'd known all along he was the least important prisoner, the last on their list. All he can hear now is the crunch of snow under their feet, the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

 

And then, something else – the thunk of arrows meeting a target. Pain sears through Percy, and he looks down to find an arrow lodged deep in his side. Cassandra has three protruding from her back like the quills of a porcupine. He feels his own blood, too hot on his cold skin, slicking his flank.

 

Cassandra falls, her eyes wide as she screams and screams, and Percy can do nothing but turn and run as her voice gets weaker.

 

He doesn't stop running, not until his legs won't support him anymore. Percy doesn't recognize his surroundings, only sees a frigid river flowing lethargically past the stand of trees he's crouched in.

 

Percy bites his lip as he takes hold of the arrow in his side and _pulls_. More blood pours over his hand, but he sets the arrow down to stain a melting patch of snow. He crawls to the river, trying his best to wash out his wound and tearing strips off his shirt to bind it. He's not sure what else to do but hope it doesn't get infected.

 

He settles on a spot of ground at the base of a tree, free of snow and mostly protected from the biting wind. He clasps his hands together and prays to Pelor for a light to show him the right path.

 

Percy passes into uneasy sleep.

 

 

\- - -

 

 

When he wakes, it's to burning, soothing light, from a source much nearer than the sun. A radiant being stands before Percy, aglow with a light Percy instinctively recognizes as divine. The light fades, and Percy recognizes the shape as a gnome in full plate armor.

 

“Hello, Percy,” she says, her voice like the tinkling of bells.

 

Percy blinks, astonished. “Who are you?”

 

The gnome smiles. “My name is Pike. I've been sent to help you.”

 

Percy struggles to sit up, hissing at the pain that the movement causes. “Who sent you?” he hisses through gritted teeth.

 

A warm hand is placed over the bloody cloth on his wound, warmth pulsing into Percy, at first unbearable but gradually fading to tolerable. When Pike lifts her hand away, Percy can feel that the wound is mostly closed, and looks to her in wonderment.

 

Pike still has that gentle smile on her face. “Pelor sent me. He heard your prayer, and since I am one of the few liaisons to the mortal world, I was chosen to find you.” Her smile goes more mischievous as a glowing symbol floats above her open palm. “He has plans for you, Percival. Big, big plans. Oh, I'm so excited for you!”

 

“How did you do that? How did you fix my wound?” Percy asks.

 

“If you want, I'll teach you,” Pike says. “But not now.” She grins. “Seems you have another visitor.” She presses the glowing symbol into Percy's hand before standing, winking, and disappearing in a flash of light.

 

Almost as soon as she winks out of sight, a dark curl of smoke rises from the ground.

 

The smoke resolves itself into a feminine form, a smile playing about her blood-red lips. A dark aura lingers around her, something not quite a shadow and not quite a definite sign of evil.

 

“Hello, Percival,” she says.

 

“Uh, hi,” Percy says awkwardly.

 

She extends a hand, death-pale with ragged nails, for him to shake. “My name is Vex'ahlia, and I’ve come to make you an offer you cannot refuse.”

 

Percy takes her hand, shaking it. “What sort of offer? Are you going to tell me some god other than Pelor has their eye on me?”

 

Vex'ahlia laughs, more sinister than Pike had. “Oh no, darling. I’m here to offer you a chance at revenge.”

 

“Revenge?” Percy says. He withdraws his hand, fingers itching for a blade. He’s not sure he trusts this Vex'ahlia.

 

“Against the Briarwoods,” Vex'ahlia clarifies. “Revenge on the people who killed you family, Percival. I watched, you know. I saw the slaughter. And I felt the dark enter your heart. You cannot tell me you have no desire to make them pay for what they did.”

 

Percy does want vengeance, he does, but this doesn’t seem right. He doesn’t know this demon, or whatever she is, certainly can’t trust her. “I don't see what you could do for me that I couldn't do for myself,” Percy says.

 

Vex'ahlia smiles, something about it not quite reaching her eyes. “I have much to give you, Percival.” She extends a hand, and a scrap of paper is clutched in it. “For you, as a sort of, hm, _insurance_.”

 

Percy reaches out to take the paper, hesitant, but his eyes widen once he sees what's scrawled on the page. Plans for some sort of weapon sit before him, something that hurls projectiles, perhaps, made of metal. His mind starts to turn, already thinking of velocity and trajectory and propulsion. He looks back up, and the spot where Vex'ahlia once stood is now vacated.

 

“Insurance,” Percy murmurs, running his fingers over the plans. He could work with this.

 

He thinks it over until he exhausts himself, then leans back against the tree and passes into fitful sleep, mind still spinning like a top.

 

 

\- - -

 

 

The watery morning sun filters through the trees, the land seeming to drip with it.

 

Percy wakes feeling different in some indescribable way. Deep in his gut, he has a direction. He tucks his newly acquired plan into his pocket and heads vaguely south, hoping he'll find something worthwhile.

 

He continues south for months that turn into a blur of travel and toil, cobbling together this weapon with scrap metal and laboring on various fishing vessels to make his way toward the Ozmit Sea. He has no time for dwelling on his family, or his home, or even his own health. But Pike and Vex stay at his side, guiding him on toward whatever the future holds.

 

And, finally, Percy arrives at Stilben. The air is oppressive and muggy, the townsfolk seedy and grubby, but it is in the Sun Stride Tavern that Percy hears the name of one Anna Ripley.

 

Her name has his hackles raising, the memories of his time with her returning unbidden. He despises that evil woman and everything she stands for. So he keeps listening, asks around, finds her, and goes to her. He has what he believes is a working prototype of what he's taken to calling a gun, and he plans on killing Ripley with it.

 

Of course, it doesn't work out, and Percy is captured by Ripley and her guards. He has no concept of how long he stays there, only that his prayers to Pelor are met with reassurances that affirm his faith in a major way. He can trust Pelor, he can put his belief in Pelor, and he will be rewarded.

 

That much is proven when Vox Machina, a blessing from Pelor himself, come crashing in and save Percy from what is certainly his death.

 

They look at him sideways, trying to understand the pale young boy they just pulled from a prison cell. He's sure they can't solve his particular puzzle, but he isn't sure he wants them to. Either way, they grow close. But Percy never, never, _never_ tells them about Vex and Pike. They're his secret, his power, and no one can ever know of their existence.

 

 

\- - -

 

 

He walks in two worlds, Percy knows. In one hand is his gun, uniform lines up his arm all bleeding smoke; in one hand is his holy symbol, light radiating from under his skin. Pike smiles when he chooses to heal, and Vex laughs when he draws a blade across his skin to access the power to do so.

 

Pelor’s grace bathes Percy, enlivens him, makes him strong and keeps him that way. When he’s at the end of his rope, it isn’t Pike’s determination, Vex’s saccharine words, Percy’s own grit, or the fear of losing his family that brings him back, but Pelor’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him on. Pelor is his drive, his will, and Percy is surprised he lets himself rely on anything quite so much.

 

Or at least, Pelor is until the fall of Emon.

 

Percy watches his newfound home crumble, and some fragile thing in his chest shatters. His faith is an unwavering rock, but his trust is stained glass.

 

He prays, when he has the time. They’re in Whitestone, Pelor’s seat, and Percy drops to his knees as soon as he finds somewhere that isn’t filled with fearful citizens. They’re safe, by some miracle, but Percy can’t understand why Pelor would let their new home fall.

 

“I’m torn,” Percy admits. He swallows, licks his lips, hums, anything to stall for time. “I believe in you, I’ve built my new life around you, but I can’t understand how-”

 

A voice comes to him, the familiar soft tones of his deity. “Trust,” Pelor says. “Some things are outside of even the domain of gods. Put your belief in me, and yourself. The light guides your way.”

 

Percy sighs. “I suppose,” he says. “Light give and forget.” He stands.

 

Pike and Vex stand before him, their heads titled in near identical expressions on two wildly different faces. They give each other a knowing look, then nod.

 

“We’ve been dishonest,” Vex says.

 

“Not dishonest,” Pike corrects. “We just haven’t told the whole truth.”

 

“Yes, the whole of it. You see, we aren’t purely philanthropic,” Vex says.

 

“What-” Percy starts.

 

Pike interrupts, “We need something from you. In order to help you.”

 

Percy’s eyes narrow, his hand going instinctively to the gun at his belt. “You aren’t going to ask my life, are you?”

 

Vex laughs, the breaking of branches in a dark forest. “No, nothing like that.”

 

“We’re asking for almost the opposite,” Pike says.

 

“Almost,” Vex says. “We want our lives.”

 

Percy stares at them for a few moments, mind turning as he tries to figure out what they could mean. “Your lives? You… You aren’t alive. How can I give you,” he pauses.

 

“We used to be alive,” Pike says.

 

Vex nods. “And we would like to be alive again.”

“Why now?” Percy asks.

 

Pike’s face darkens, her soft blue eyes glinting with a sudden wicked light. “These dragons won’t kill themselves, will they?”

 

“But why do you care?” Percy says, trying to understand.

 

“Simple,” Vex says with a shrug. “We have a very limited omniscience in this form, and we know what’s going to happen.”

 

Pike reaches out to touch Percy’s hand. “You’ll need us. Without us, you’ll fail. And we don’t want that.”

 

Percy takes a few moments to search their faces for signs of deceit, for some darker motive. Vex always has an angle, but at the moment she looks as open as Pike. “How?” he finally asks.

 

“Kill something, something strong,” Vex says.

 

Pike nods. “We can do the rest from there.”

 

“How strong?” Percy says.

 

Pike and Vex look to each other, considering.

 

“I would say at least as strong as an ancient dragon,” Vex says.

 

Percy stares between the two of them. He could do this for them and get two strong allies against the Chroma Conclave, two people he’s grown to trust, if tentatively. But they could betray him, they could be using him. Something in his gut tells him they aren’t, but he won’t know for certain until an ancient dragon lies dead. Vox Machina definitely won’t approve, so he’d have to work in secret. He might destroy their trust in him.

 

Pike looks at him with wide, hopeful eyes, while Vex has her arms crossed over her chest, watching him warily.

 

Percy takes a deep breath. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says.

 

“I guess that’s all we can hope for,” Pike says.

 

“You’ll have to kill the dragons eventually,” Vex says.

 

Before Percy can reply, the door to the chapel opens and Vax comes in, his usually expressive face stony. “Come on, Percival,” he says. “We’ve got to go to Vasselheim.”

 

Vex and Pike fade from view, and Percy, feeling something like dread sinking in his stomach, follows Vax.

 

  
\- - -

 

  
Percy reaches for the sarcophagus. He has nothing in mind but himself, surely, and his desire to possess what others don’t have. He doesn’t think about Vax standing next to him.

 

But Vax is the one who falls.

 

His eyes go wide as he staggers back, and Percy can see the dark shard of necrotic energy burrowed into his heart. Percy feels something like panic set in, but it’s distant, second to the mounting horror that crests as he moves with leaden limbs toward Vax.

 

Percy falls to his knees beside his friend, his brother, and already his hands work for his knives. He pulls one out without looking, not noticing as it carved into his arm and drips crimson onto Vax’s skin. He prays, trying to call forth that energy he only gets from sacrifice. He sets glowing hands on Vax’s chest and in moments is taken elsewhere to a place he doesn’t recognize.

 

A woman in a porcelain mask sits watching him.

 

“Percival de Rolo,” she says in greeting.

 

Percy blinks, taken aback by the sudden change in scenery. His hands are still on Vax, and he knows he mustn’t let go. “Are you Her?” he asks.

 

There is no movement from the mask, or any sound that reaches him, but Percy gets the distinct impression that he’s being laughed at. “And whom do you believe me to be?”

 

“The Raven Queen,” Percy breathes.

 

“In that case, chosen of Pelor,” the Raven Queen says, “I would be her.”

 

Percy feels the cold of the space around him, but it doesn’t truly register. It reminds him of his flight from the Briarwoods, the quiet feeling of impending doom. “The spell isn’t working,” Percy says.

 

The Raven Queen nods. “I know. Pelor’s grace has no use in my realm. We have an agreement, he and I.”

 

“There must be a way,” Percy says. He digs his hands into Vax’s chest, rooting around for anything to pull him back to himself. “I, I’ll do whatever it takes. What do you want?”

 

“Whatever it takes?” She asks. “I don’t believe you know what you propose, child of the light.”

Percy closes his eyes, tries to find the power in him that springs to his fingertips so easily in the rest of the world, but he can’t grasp it. He’s powerless in the domain of this goddess. “I know how to make a deal,” Percy says, thinking of Vex, Pike, Vox Machina, Pelor.

 

A frigid breeze runs down Percy’s spine, making him shiver. He must be imagining it, but it feels colder than it did a moment ago. “What do you offer in return for your Vax'ildan?” She challenges.

 

Percy pushes his hands into the cavity of Vax’s chest. “I give myself, Raven Queen. Take of me what you must.”

 

The air grows still as death. Something that feels vaguely like a blanket settles over Percy’s shoulders, and he finds himself unable to keep his eyes open.

 

“Very well,” the Raven Queen says. “I will take of you what I must, and you shall have your rogue returned.”

 

Air enters Vax’s lungs like he’s been underwater. He sits up, hacking and gasping, and Percy realizes with a start that they’ve been returned to the sunken tomb. Percy holds Vax as he breathes, feeling a little out of breath, himself.

 

“What happened?” Vax says.

 

“You fucking died,” Grog says.

 

Percy pulls Vax closer, ignoring the stinging from unhealed wounds, and tries not to dwell on the deal he just made. His party talks around him, and Percy swears to himself that he’ll never let this happen again.

 

  
\- - -

 

  
The following days are hectic. Vox Machina hunts, and Percy tries to understand what his new role is. Pelor still speaks to him, but he can feel the Raven Queen’s presence like She is his new shadow. He doesn’t understand what’s so special about himself, but he tries to serve them both.

His chosen method of healing becomes more convenient. He gives death and blood to the Raven Queen, and healing and creation to Pelor. The deep scars traveling his skin feel more like kin than shame.

 

Pike and Vex walk with him at every step, smoke and light wisping around them. Vox Machina grit their teeth and trudge on. They want Kevdak.

 

They get Kevdak.

 

Umbrasyl is another matter entirely. It takes Percy’s engineering, Vex’s knowledge of dragons, Pike’s infinite patience, and a small amount of input from Keyleth to concoct a trap that Percy believes will hold Umbrasyl, at least for a moment.

 

“Don’t let us down, Percival,” Vex warns.

 

“There’s always the next dragon!” Pike says.

 

It’s a hard battle, a long battle, with lots of stupid ideas that somehow mostly pan out. Percy has to devote half of his time to healing rather than dealing damage, feeding off of the dead goliath to power himself. Vax and Scanlan teleport themselves inside Umbrasyl, for reasons unknown to any but themselves. They are forced to chase after Umbrasyl and fight him in his own cave. But somehow Vox Machina prevails.

 

Umbrasyl lies dead, and as Vox Machina files into Scanlan’s Magnificent Mansion, Percy hangs back with Keyleth.

 

“This is going to sound unreal,” Percy prefaces, “but trust me, alright?”

 

Keyleth squints at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

 

Percy looks around, seeing if Vex and Pike are near, but he can’t find them. “I made a deal with some people, to kill this dragon. And they’re using to, I’m not sure, come to life with the dragon’s soul?”

 

“So, you made a deal with demons?” Keyleth says.

 

“No! Only one of them is a demon,” Percy says.

 

Keyleth frowns. “That’s not much better, Percy. Are we going to have to fight them? Should I alert the others?”

 

Percy purses his lips. “I don’t believe so. They’ve been with me for a long while, and I think that they are honest in just wanting to be alive. I believe in them, almost as much as I believe in Pelor and the Raven Queen.”

 

A tense moment passes, then Keyleth sighs, a sign of relent. “Do what you must, Percy. I'll even close my eyes, if you want me to.”

 

As if waiting for her cue, Pike and Vex appear on either side of Percy. A warm hand – Pike – touches Percy's arm. She looks up to him with watery eyes. “You have no idea how thankful we are,” Pike says.

 

Vex nods from his other side. “Thank you, Percival.”

 

Pike reaches across Percy for Vex's hand, and they take a deep breath together. They walk forward, through the dragon, and before Percy and Keyleth's eyes a green light begins to glow from under Umbrasyl's hide.

 

Long minutes pass with no change, until finally the light fades. Percy and Keyleth wait in silence, and are greeted suddenly by a mace forcing its way through Umbrasyl. Clutching onto the mace, pulling herself up out of the beast, is Pike. She reaches back in and lifts Vex out, and they look over each other quickly before embracing.

 

“We're alive,” Percy hears Pike say.

 

“I missed being able to touch you,” Vex says.

 

Percy and Keyleth give them time and space, and Keyleth looks sternly at Percy. “Any other secrets you want to spill?”

 

“That was the biggest one,” Percy says.

 

“You know this isn't really resolved, right?” Keyleth says.

 

Percy shrugs. “It never is. We still have three dragons to kill, six Vestiges to find, I'll have to explain this whole situation, the Briarwoods are still at large, and I'm still not sure how I'll serve both Pelor and my Queen.”

 

Keyleth nods. “As long as you know what you've gotten yourself into.”

 

Percy smiles, feeling lighter now that Vex and Pike are out of his head. “We've got a bright future to look forward to, I'd say.”

 

“Of course you would say that,” Keyleth says, but she's smiling. She wraps an arm around Percy and pulls him in for a hug. “I'm just glad we're alive.”

 

“We'll keep it that way,” Percy promises. “We've come too far to die before we've finished our mission.”

 

Keyleth nods against Percy, but says nothing.

 

“Besides,” Percy adds, looking over to Vex and Pike, who are marveling at each other, “I think we'll have some help with whatever may come.”

 

He puts his arms around Keyleth and feels the presence of his two deities in his mind. He's come a long way from the boy Vex and Pike approached in the snow outside Whitestone, and he plans on continuing to grow and advance and, hopefully, to one day understand fully his place in the world.

 

For now, he holds Keyleth and hopes to his gods that the end of their story is far off, indeed.

 


End file.
